It was eerily silent for a moment. All we had left were the bodies of our comrades. There was no relief, no joy. It was quiet. Did the living feel relieved that they were still standing, or did they wish that they were the ones who had fallen? I only felt empty as I watched the spot where Tristan had disappeared. He could still come back. I mean, this was Tristan. He made it out of everything. He was smart, and cunning. He wouldn't have done it, knowing he would die, right? The silence began to break, as names started being called. I turned numbly, watching. The werewolves had shifted back, and along with the Gifted, they were calling out for people, searching. Amongst the call of names, cries began to break out.
Sobs, screams of agony and despair, and I knew that meant that name was gon
